On the Wings of Pegasus, we can see the Stars
by AP Stacey
Summary: An answer to a request on P&P's Christmas Wish-List, though not a Christmas-themed story. What if Admiral Helena Cain and Gina Inviere's relationship had managed a happier ending than canon suggested ...
1. Chapter I : Admiral & Commander

_Pairing : Helena Cain / Gina Inviere_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I take the time to write, please take the time to let me know you've read it. _

_Author's notes : This is a response to one of the items posted on the Passion & Perfection Livejournal's "Christmas Wish List"; asking for a story featuring Helena and Gina in a happy ending, rather than the terrible end both suffer in the canon conclusion of their relationship. _

___I'd originally planned on putting in a number of flashbacks into this story, focusing on the build-up to the boarding of the Scylla, Gina before her insertion into Scorpio Fleet Yards and one or two scenes with Helena as a young woman (18 - 25). Although I wrote some of these scenes, the story began to threaten to grow out of all control so I shelved the flashbacks, and decided to bring it to a close directly._

_____I'm open to posting some of these flashbacks as shorts, however, if anyone shows an interest. _  


* * *

_Chapter I : Admiral of the Fleet ..._

* * *

The neck of the bottle banged against the lip of the tumbler, the sharp clink of glass-against-glass reverberating against the surrounding walls as the bright amber liquid flowed forth. Setting the bottle back on the tabletop, Admiral Helena Cain braced her hands against the edge of her desk and loomed over the glass.

She absolutely hated the stuff. She hated the way it made her nostrils flare on the way to making her eyes water; she hated the way it didn't so much burn her throat on the way down as set it on fire and ride the flames down to the depths of her gut. She hated that less than half of the bottle, taken in one sitting, would knock her one her ass for the rest of the evening.

Cain commanded absolute respect and obedience amongst the officers and crew of the Battlestar Pegasus, and perhaps a little less than absolute of the same amongst the complement of The Fleet's only other military power, the Battlestar Galactica. She could have anyone from either ship frog-marched into her wardroom – be it Commander or Specialist – and expect to see if not outright fear, or tension then at the very least, respect. The Colonial Military's chain of command was less a chain and more a solid, inflexible beam; there was no room for interpretation, no room for wiggling.

Narrowing her eyes which remained focused on the slither of amber still spinning lazily in the tumbler below, the Admiral tightened her fingers around the edge of her desk and sighed. This stuff had no concept of rank, no understanding or care for protocol. She could down the glass, or the bottle, or flush the lot into the great blackness of space and it would never show a reaction.

Hefting the bottle into her hand and sloshing the liquid around inside, Helena abruptly lifted her free hand from the desk and twisted the cap free with a single jerk of her wrist. Bringing the neck of the bottle to her lips, her eyes rolled closed and the Admiral took a great lungful of the pungent, burning odour.

She loved the warmth it brought, starting in the pit of her gut and spreading out; getting a little higher with every shot until, eventually, it made her arms and legs heavy and her mind slow. She loved the way it took her strength of will – required not simply to succeed in a military life, or reach the rank of Flag-Officer, or survive the genocide of her people and the end of all things, or even to assume command of the last throw of the die an all-but-extinct civilisation – and utterly circumvent it.

Helena loved the way it took all the burdens she carried and laid them down, slowly picking the heavy weight of command from her hunched shoulders and twisted back until there was nothing but a person, a woman like any other woman on any other ship in the fleet, beneath. Opening her eyes and blinking away the brightness of the overhead lamps, the Admiral returned her gaze to the bottle she still held in her hand and the fire water it contained within.

It was so good at making her forget, without asking for anything in return … And that was why she hated it.

Screwing the top back into place and setting the bottle back on the desktop, Helena took a step away as if to create a more tangible distance between herself and the temptation. She had seen countless young men and women throw away careers and lives to the bottle and its promises – and that had been before the end of civilisation as anyone knew it, the beginning of their flight from the Twelve Colonies and the incredible hardships of simply surviving.

Each day survived seemed more and more to be in itself a new problem; as if the reward for waking up was a Universe ever-more determined for you to begin the long sleep. It was all too easy to fall into any vice that promised relief without asking any questions. If nothing else, the weight of expectation on her shoulders only added to her reluctance to take more than a passing snifter or two from the bottle. A Deck Hand whose duties never climbed above the complexity of being able to wield a broom properly might be easily enough replaced, should he prefer to spend his days drinking himself to an early death. Were he to succeed, there might be a dark and horribly logical school of thought that suggested the resources wasted might be better used elsewhere with his passing.

A Raptor Pilot was an altogether different affair; the complex and time-consuming training required to bring a civilian to the standard required meant there was an altogether rarer supply to replace field losses. The instincts and breakneck speeds required to survive – let alone succeed – as a Viper Pilot made replacing those losses even more difficult …

In the entire Fleet, there were only a handful of Command-level officers who might be capable of commanding a single Battlestar, let alone two and certainly not the combined military, logistical and navigational operations of a fifty ship-plus fleet. Snatching the tumbler up from the desk and bringing it up to her lips, a rueful smile passed over Helena's lips. Bill Adama would undoubtedly make it all work … Somehow.

And so the decision was already made and for the Admiral, there would be no merciful vices that demanded nothing from her in return. Her role was clear, vital and irreplaceable. Knocking back the amber liquid and barely suppressing the urge to grimace as the ambrosia tore a burning path down to her gut, she puffed her cheeks out and rolled the empty tumbler against her palm.

She hated this stuff.

...

* * *

...

There was something beyond deadly, almost mythical, about the power of a nuclear weapon. It was hard to believe that such destructive energy could be contained in a single warhead, small enough that a person could just about fit one inside the kind of travel cases seen at any random spaceport. Combined in great numbers, they could cleanse an entire world. Cities, people – all scoured clear like the Gods were pulling back time, resetting an entire planet to start again with new faces, new ideas …

He'd smelled Libris burning, watched it with his own eyes. He'd kicked through the blackened metal and the crumbled concrete that littered her streets and choked her highways, stepping over the charred husks of the men – or women, for there was no way to tell one from the other – that lay where the dozens of briefly-burning suns in the sky had dropped. He'd walked through the capital as it melted to slag and molten nothing; skyscrapers simply bowing and falling in on themselves, spreading choking clouds of dust and debris that painted his flesh and scratched his lungs.

He'd walked with only one purpose; to find those responsible and kill them, or die trying. He'd exhausted his rifle, side-arm and anything picked up along the way that looked like it might have still held a bullet. Despite adding the din of gunfire to the crackling of the flames as the streets he stalked burned, not a single enemy fell to his aim. Not a single glinting metal robot, walking upright with a single, baleful eye answered his duelling challenge.

He'd gotten a few shots off at a dagger-shaped something that had roared past, barely thirty feet above his head and heading due south and away from the city centre, but hadn't been able to do much more than scratch the paint. He'd woken up that morning, showered, shaved and watched his home, his city, his world and his civilisation wiped from existence without ever catching a glimpse of the enemy with his own eyes.

But that had all changed, now. They hadn't been on Libris, or Caprica or Virgon or any of the Twelve Colonies … At least not like he remembered them. They'd changed, traded their metal for flesh – exchanged pumps and actuators for hearts and muscle. They wore masks of people that might have been people, once upon a time. It didn't really matter who they were pretending to be, because he knew the truth; he knew what they really were …

He knew who they really were and in a little more time than it would take him to reach the hangar deck, draw his side-arm from its holster and fire, Lieutenant Christopher "Sideswipe" Mearns would show the Pegasus, the Galactica and the whole Fleet the truth that was walking these very halls, sharing their food and listening to their war stories.

Reaching a hand down against his thigh, Mearns rested a palm against the top of his pistol still held securely in its holster. Reluctantly he pulled it away, determined not to attract attention to himself until the time was right, and he demanded the eyes of the whole deck. Shaking his head slightly and focusing on the corridor ahead and the difficult dance of manoeuvring around the dozens of bodies passing through, the Lieutenant swore he could smell Libris burning all over again.

...

* * *

...

Placing the sole of her boot against the hatch and forcing it closed with a clang, Kendra Shaw hopped the short distance down to the hangar decking from the Raptor's armoured skirt, brushing the dust from her fleet blues. Walking around the pudgy shuttle's starboard side she caught the eyes of the pilot through the canopy and twirled her finger in the air, aiming it down the flight line like a gun and firing off an imagined shot.

The officer on-board nodded, snapping off a quick salute and turning his attention back to the business of moving his aerocraft. The din of the Raptor's engines climbed to a dull roar as it began to sluggishly pander forwards, heading for the lift platform that would carry out the complex choreography required to turn the craft upside down for launch on the port side's "lower" runway.

All things being equal and the Twelve Colonies being anything but irradiated slag, Kendra might have seen the Hangar Deck twice a deployment – once on arrival for duty and once on departure to a new assignment. Directing aerocraft movements inside the ship and organising departures and arrivals was somewhat of a change in her career path, then, but the Cylons were not particularly accommodating or selective in the personnel they killed or maimed.

And so while the Landing Signals Officer (Internal) Ensign Daniel Tavers recovered from the business end of a conduit bracing, driven through his leg during the Pegasus' last tussle with a Baseship, Kendra found herself the unlucky underling picked seemingly at random to fill-in. Pulling the combined receiver and microphone from her ear and rubbing the sweat from the damp skin underneath the uncomfortable, rubberised contacts Shaw snatched up her clipboard from the trolley nearby.

Slipping the headset back over her head, adjusting to the return of the continual chatter between pilots and directing officers and scanning the next departure, Kendra transmitted her distinctive accent across the Hangar. "Raptor Four-Five-Epsilon, cleared for taxi to Elevator Two."

"Clear for taxi to Elevator Two, Raptor Four-Five-Epsilon," The gruff voice barked back from the transport beginning to nudge forwards from the far side of the bay. Scoring through the name on the sheet held in her hand and tossing the thick black marker back onto the trolley, Kendra glanced up to the sound of more than one raised voice shouting above the roar of multiple turbine engines.

Her features creased in a frown as her eyes tracked an officer – a lieutenant from the rank pins on his collar and a pilot by the flight suit he wore – step over the red painted lines that divided the general purpose spaces of the Hangar from the enormous section devoted to aerocraft movements, and strictly off-limits to unauthorised personnel. She cocked her head to the side, able to do nothing but watch in confusion for several moments as the pilot headed towards the elevator stations used to ferry Raptors up (and down) to the launch runways. He showed no notice of anything surrounding, even as he passed uncomfortably close to several active aerocraft and the terrific screeching of their engines.

"All active craft hold!" Kendra shouted into her headset, as professionalism overrode her confusion. "Perimeter intrusion – Throttles to safe and secure brakes!"

Ignoring the cacophony of sighs, grunts, and irritated questions that flooded through almost immediately, Kendra pulled the headset free of her hair and dropped it onto the trolley. Breaking into a jog to close the distance between herself and the stranger, she struggled to place his face to a memory.

While the Pegasus' advanced systems meant a great deal of the Battlestar was automated, or required very little direct Human observation, it was still an enormous ship and save for the occasional address by the Admiral or other such high-ranking officer or dignitary, The Beast's crew rarely gathered together in their entirety and even then, never in a social situation. At least not before the exodus from everything they'd ever known. Familiarity bred comfort, and the ship's various departments invariably preferred to spend their time with the same faces they worked with.

As hard as Shaw tried, she couldn't place the man's face and anything as demanding as recalling his name was well beyond her. "Lieutenant!" She called loudly, without eliciting as much as a jerk of the stranger's head as he took an abrupt turn to the left. Beginning to grow more than a little irritated her eyes scanned up ahead, past a group of deckhands struggling to move a badly-oiled transport cage loaded with Viper munitions, beyond an unlucky specialist armed only with a lump hammer and busy pounding dents from the floor of the Hangar.

A civilian contractor named Gina Invierre, who'd ended up stranded on Pegasus after the Battlestar's suicidal blind FTL jump away from the burning remains of the Scorpion Shipyards, crouched next to a data terminal a little further ahead of the hammer-wielding specialist. Craning her neck Kendra could see no-one any further forward than the blonde, who seemed engrossed in the data tablet she cradled and paid no heed to the rapidly gathering crowds.

Kendra's lips parted as she prepared to bring to bare the full weight of her authority, conscious of the fact that the chain of command made it increasingly more likely the Admiral's own full authority would come down on her shoulders with every second this bizarre pantomime continued. The words died on her lips as she drew in a sharp gasp of air in their place – eyes focusing on the splayed palm of the pilot ahead, as he reached down towards the holster strapped to his thigh.

Shaw pushed off against the decking, catapulting forward with everything her muscles could provide and more. Fluent not only in Fleet Close Combat Technique – as required of all personnel, officers or otherwise – and the finer, deadlier art of Caprica kick-boxing, Kendra had no useful time for grace, balance, poise or hitting power. The Pilot ahead pulled his weapon clear of its holster in the time it took her to close the short distance remaining and duly raised the barrel, drawing a line on the back of Gina's skull. She leapt forwards, even as his finger slipped inside the trigger guard and squeezed down.

Kendra drove the flat of her shoulder into the Gunman's back, multiplying the effect of her slight weight by an order of magnitude thanks to a running start. Gritting her teeth at the pain arcing through her upper arm as it was forced back against her side, Shaw rolled to the floor as the deafening bang of a gunshot at close range rang out. Ears ringing loudly so that she could hear nothing else, Kendra reorientated herself a little more quickly than the Pilot opposite, who had only managed to climb back to his knees.

Taking a number of deep, steadying breaths the Gunman simply reached forwards for the weapon that had dropped to the floor no more than an arm's reach away. All semblance of the calm becoming and appropriate of an Officer in the Colonial Fleet dissolved in Kendra, who stalked forwards and drove the flat of her boot into the Pilot's unguarded side. The Lieutenant opposite gasped, clutching his rib and grunting as he slumped onto the side of the decking. Satisfied she'd prevented his best effort at obtaining a dishonourable discharge by way of bodybag, Kendra stepped over the prone man and reached down to scoop up the pistol.

Perhaps overconfidence or naivety, but it was only until a moment after the back of her skull crashed painfully against the decking that Shaw realised she'd made a rookie mistake. Rolling onto her front and away from the outstretched leg, trying to blink away the swirling, fuzzy confusion of the concussion that had surely come her way, Kendra scrambled to her feet and hauled the pistol strapped to her own thigh free. In a single fluid movement the Captain clicked the safety off and drew a bead on the Pilot's forehead from point-blank range.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, Kendra couldn't help but notice he had drawn his own bead on the forehead of a blonde and startled face.

Several seconds of silence stretched to several minutes, leaving Shaw with only the diminishing ringing in her ears and the thunder of her heart as it hammered against the cage of her chest. Kendra was conscious of a crowd-of-sorts closing around the three and were she willing to take her eye – and her aim – from the man opposite, she might have had a few choice words for the idiots gathering.

Instead, she settled on something more relevant to the situation. "What's your name, Soldier?"

It took yet another long period of silence before the Gunman opposite even turned half an eye towards her, and longer still before he was moved to reply. "What does it matter?" He shrugged, his aim for the centre of Gina's forehead steady enough that his arm might well have been chiselled from stone.

"It matters," Kendra insisted with a firm nod. "It matters because if I'm going to pull a weapon on another member of the crew, I'd like to know his name before I get any further than pulling the trigger."

The Stranger narrowed his eyes, as if considering the simple request with all the suspicion of a question ten times more probing. Eventually he shrugged, "Mearns, Christopher – Callsign "Sideswipe"."

"Okay," Kendra nodded, her eyes twitching at the prickly sheen of sweat she dare not scratch that tickled her forehead and temples. "Now we're getting somewhere. On to my next question – would you like to explain to me why you're pointing a gun at the head of a civilian?"

The smile that split Mearns face was as disconcerting as the bellicose chuckle that escaped from his otherwise neutral face. Unable to hide the frown of confusion that marred her features, Kendra instead felt anger well up inside her; the suspicion that she was being taken for a fool by yet another deranged, hopped-up Fighter Jock who'd popped one-too-many Stimms becoming ever harder to ignore.

"She's not a civilian!" The Pilot shouted loudly, real desperation creeping into his gruff tones even as all trace of the humour that had widened his lips disappeared to nothingness. His gaze fell back down upon Gina, revulsion obvious in his eyes. "She's not even a person! She's just wearing a mask ..."

Beginning to tire of the entire episode, Shaw forced Mearns' attention back on herself. "What the frak are you talking about, Lieutenant?"

"You can't see it Captain, can you?" He chuckled, the same absurd humour of moments before abruptly reappearing. "You look into her face and you see one just like yours, just like mine! Well I see what's underneath the skin; I see the glint of metal in those soulless eyes … She's a frakking Cylon!"

Kendra's lips parted, her head cocking to the side as if the pistol discharging so close to her head earlier had somehow conspired to scramble the brain within. Her eyes narrowed, and still she struggled to find her voice. Of course there were rumours – not until the Human Race had finally met its entire, complete end would there ever be a state of circumstances where rumours, allegations and outright fallacies were not a fact of daily life.

The claims were simple but shocking : The Cylons look like us now. As if the thought of sentient machines in vast fleets of deadly warships wasn't terrifying enough, to imagine them able to stroll down the corridors and bulkheads you called home, exchange pleasantries – become your friend even, or worse – was simply more than the rational mind could withstand.

Which was why the rational mind rejected such claims as nonsense. If the Cylons truly had such mastery, to be able to exchange their metallic armour for soft, supple flesh, there would be no remnant of Colonial civilisation left to know about it. There would be no Rumour Mill to guess and gossip, for they would all surely be as dead as if they'd remained at home with their families on the Twelve Colonies.

Any possibility that Kendra might have believed Mearns in spirit were dashed when she chanced a glance down at Gina. The Captain's steely gaze found red eyes, brimming with tears powered by the terrible helplessness of a person whose fate hung in the balance, by the barrel of a man at the very end of his sanity and control. The blonde's lips quivered as she sat on her knees, chin tipped up so that her entire world was filled by the muzzle of the sidearm pointed directly in her face.

Even if the woman quietly sobbing on the deck was, by some hypothetical absurdity a Cylon, such was the convincing display of sorrow and fear evident that it would take a far better person than Kendra to call it a lie. Tipping her head slightly to the left, Shaw caught sight of a Marine Fire Team taking up positions behind her and arranging themselves in a semi-circle to face the demented Pilot.

"Even if what you're saying is true," She began with a hard edge to her voice, "You don't have the stripes on your cuff to make that kind of decision. Put your gun down and someone might listen to you, Mearns … But no-one's going to take notice until you stand down. Drop the weapon."

Computers – like the ones that sat in the middle of all that chrome the Cylons wore, she supposed – were able to collate thousands, if not millions of variables and reach decisions in the literal blink of an eye. They operated at the very speed of light and, in some unique cases beyond, and not even the much-vaunted Human Mind could compete with them in terms of raw speed …

… And yet, Kendra Shaw's mind made a valiant effort in comparison. In little more than the blink of that same eye she collected countless variables; from the resigned look in the eyes of a man who held no fear of death, to the subtle arc of travel of his forefinger as it ghosted inside the trigger guard of his pistol. She watched him plant his feet firmly to the deck, and the muscles in his firing arm go taut as he took final aim.

And then she fired, even as his finger began to press down on the trigger.

Kendra was dimly aware of a second gunshot and she supposed, from somewhere in the recesses of her unconscious mind that Mearns had managed to get a round off. Pistol held outstretched, a thin coil of smoke uncurling from the still-hot muzzle and dispersing into the wide air of the Hangar, Shaw's gaze followed the Lieutenant opposite and his brief journey to the decking below.

Christopher "Sidewswipe" Mearns collapsed to the steel with a soft thud, crimson beginning to flow from wounds partially hidden by the blackened, charred material of his flight suit surrounding. Slowly, Kendra panned her head over towards Gina and away from the man she had just put to death without much of a second thought beforehand. The tall, slender woman pressed her hand against her shoulder, teeth gritting together in pain.

Dropping down to her knees and laying her hand on top of Gina's, Kendra gently eased the blonde's fingers away and inspected the deep cut underneath. Scrutinising the wound and satisfied enough it was nothing more than a glancing hit, a single piece of shrapnel broken free by Mearns' final act, the Captain tried to find her voice to offer some comfort.

"Thank you …" Gina managed first, her voice a shaky whisper. For all her own strength of will, Kendra could manage nothing so grand and instead, settled on a simple nod. Climbing to her feet, she became conscious of the pistol she still held tightly in her palm – the grip now slick with sweat. Setting the safety and holstering the weapon to her thigh, Shaw's eyes were irresistibly drawn to the body at her feet.

The Cylons didn't need to worry about completing their genocide; Mankind was doing a fine enough job of finishing itself off without Baseships, or Centurions, or Cylons that walked with bodies of flesh and blood.

...

* * *

...

**To Be Continued … **


	2. Chapter II : Number Six

_Pairing : Helena Cain / Gina Inviere_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I take the time to write, please take the time to let me know you've read it._

_Author's notes : This is a response to one of the items posted on the Passion & Perfection Livejournal's "Christmas Wish List"; asking for a story featuring Helena and Gina in a happy ending, rather than the terrible end both suffer in the canon conclusion of their relationship._

___I'd originally planned on putting in a number of flashbacks into this story, focusing on the build-up to the boarding of the Scylla, Gina before her insertion into Scorpio Fleet Yards and one or two scenes with Helena as a young woman (18 - 25). Although I wrote some of these scenes, the story began to threaten to grow out of all control so I shelved the flashbacks, and decided to bring it to a close directly._

_____I'm open to posting some of these flashbacks as shorts, however, if anyone shows an interest. _  


* * *

_Chapter II : They look like us, now._

_

* * *

_

Certain things were expected of a Battlestar's Commanding Officer; a coolness under the most intense pressure, an ability to separate oneself from emotion and to put the good of the ship and the demands of duty over personal circumstance. To always be, without a single failing, the rock on which the waves break and to never, ever be carried out to sea with the tide. It was as much the duty of an Officer to know his or her own limits – and overcome them – as it was to know their subordinates'. Never let them see you cry …

It was only this intense sense of duty, drummed into her psyche relentlessly over a decade until she felt almost able to command her dreams and nightmares by strength of will alone, that kept Helena's pace to a very brisk walk rather than the outright run it was threatening to become. The unbuttoned flap of her duty jacket dancing against her chest, the Admiral barely acknowledged the two-dozen salutes she received on her barely-restrained walk from her Wardroom to the Infirmary.

Long strands of sleep-tussled hair danced across her tired eyes as she stepped through the receding doors, her nostrils flaring at the unmistakable and pungent odour of antiseptics and sanitizer. For the first time since being roused from the couch almost ten minutes before, Cain ground to a halt – eyes panning across the dozen beds arranged in a semi-circular before her, each separated by an opaque plastic curtain.

"Admiral," A painfully thin man greeted warmly, nodding his head in lieu of a salute. Garbed in a long white coat and steel-rimmed glasses that perched on the very edge of a hooked nose, the Officer with the rank of colonel snatched up a clipboard from the nearby tabletop and glanced downwards.

Unable to see anything of much use through the drapes obscuring most of the beds ahead, Helena eventually turned her head towards the Officer opposite. "Sitrep, Doctor."

"It seems we had an incident in the Hangar a short while ago, involving the discharge of a firearm-"

"I'm aware of the circumstances," The Admiral interrupted, a hard edge to her voice. She paused momentarily, a sudden dryness to her throat as she tried to force out the next word. " … Casualties?"

The Doctor turned on his heels and headed towards one of the beds to the far left of the Infirmary, leaving Helena to follow him. "Unfortunately Lieutenant Mearns did not survive being disarmed, and was announced dead at the scene of the incident. I attempted to examine Captain Shaw for signs of shock, but she … Refused. Returned to duty immediately, unsurprisingly."

Cain's lips twitched upwards at the thought, as unsurprised as the Doctor, although for entirely different reasons. From the arrogant, know-it-all Lieutenant who'd ended up lost on her first posting on a Battlestar, only managing to report to her Commanding Officer twenty minutes after she'd boarded to an experienced, capable Captain with all the right skills and attitude to rise to the highest echelons of the Fleet …

It was only an unfortunate reality that promotion prospects, short of placing a gun to your superior officer's head, were few and far between. The rustle of a curtain, and the screech of the metal runners it hung on scraping back against the supporting rail pulled Helena's attention back to the present. Glancing up, her eyes settled on a bright blue pair opposite and all thoughts of Captains, promotion prospects and otherwise were emptied from her busy mind.

"If you'll excuse me, Ma'am," The Doctor interrupted almost-nervously, "I've got other patients to check over."

Acknowledging the rapidly departing Colonel with the vaguest of nods, Cain stepped inside the perimeter of the bed and drew the curtain sharply back into place. Stepping to the side of the bed she swallowed, feeling her lips grow dry and her voice absurdly hard to come by.

Shoulder hidden beneath the bright whiteness of dermal plaster, Gina slowly tilted her chin over and up towards the visitor, a wide smile splitting her features. With the slightest frown of discomfort that did little to dim her grin, a hand slipped from underneath the blanket and climbed to rest on the metal barrier protecting the side of the bed. Palm open it rested there, waiting to be accepted. After a moment's hesitation Helena gingerly lifted her own from where it hung by her side, taking the lithe fingers in her own and squeezing gently.

"The Admiral's a real stickler for appearances ..." The Blonde whispered with a nod towards Helena's unbuttoned duty jacket. "I hear she's a real hard-ass ..."

Narrowing her eyes in mock irritation, Cain cocked her head to the side. "Executive Privilege and all the gold on my collar I need. How're you feeling? Is there anything you need?"

"Like a real soldier," Gina shrugged, the smile on her face dimming slightly as she subconsciously prodded at her bandaged shoulder with her free hand. "All things considered, I'll thank the Gods and stick to working with computers … The Pilot, the Lieutenant, is he ..."

"Dead," Helena sighed, her jaw setting tightly as her teeth pressed together in a conflicting whirl of emotion. While his behaviour could never – would never – be excused, the loss of another precious life where the sum total of Human Civilisation barely topped forty seven thousand, the loss of an incalculably vital soldier under her watch no less, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Feeling the familiar ache in the small of her back return Helena's free hand cupped against her pained muscles, as she bent backwards slightly to relieve the weight on her spine. "After I'm satisfied you're doing well, I'm going to bust more than a few officers' heads over how one of my people was able to become increasingly unstable without the slightest notice. I pulled a half-dozen reports from NCOs, junior Officers – Performance evaluations, psychological reviews, all of them flashed warning signs but not a single Gods-damned one of them with a desk and senior wings bothered to escalate it."

Gina frowned, sitting up slightly but saying nothing as Helena continued. "Mearns submitted five sworn affidavits to the Interim Office for Fleet Security over the least two months, accusing individuals across Pegasus, Galactica, the Zephyr and the Astral Queen of being Cylon Agents. The OFS stopped listening after number three, apparently, but decided against closing the circle and informing anyone aboard this ship who might have been able to do something about his nonsense. You were just unlucky enough to be Number Six."

Uncurling her hand from Cain's, Gina raised her fingers to gently curl them around the raven-coloured strands that feel free from the Admiral's rough ponytail. "You look tired – I hope you haven't been sleeping on that couch again ..."

Flinching slightly but suppressing the urge to pull away, Helena grimaced as she twisted her back left and right, the dull ache creeping ever further up her side. "I'm fine," She replied defensively, earning a scowl from the woman lying on the bed below.

"Okay – fine, so the promise of the paperless Battlestar can't come soon enough. Crew evaluation reports; too many Priests and not enough Gods, that's my problem-"

Without much warning, Helena felt a sudden if gentle pressure on the back of her head and quite unexpectedly, found her lips brushing against Gina's. Instinctively the Admiral jerked her head back, breaking the contact that existed for only a moment and trying to blink away her surprise. Feeling her cheeks flush crimson, Helena absurdly glanced over her shoulder as if expecting to see the entire Infirmary watching.

"You're still not comfortable with me, with us …" Gina sighed, almost to herself.

The sadness in the tone of the blonde's voice overrode the incredible embarrassment colouring Cain's face and she leaned down, her hand sliding between honey-blonde locks as quivering lips met expectant opposites. The touch was delicate at first, as if Helena needed to hold the contact for a moment to convince herself there was nothing to fear. The hesitancy melted away as desire took a more active role, until the lips were parted and the softest of gasps escaped Gina's occupied mouth.

Limited by the conscious awareness of their location in the Infirmary – not particularly noted for its reputation as an aphrodisiac – the searing kiss calmed to a final, closed peck as the Admiral pulled away reluctantly.

"I'm sorry," She managed, quietly. "This is all new to me ..."

Gina's smile returned, as bright as before. "I don't believe you've never been with a woman before."

"I meant relationships, especially on active-duty," Helena muttered with a roll of her eyes. "I know things change – need to change, this isn't a career any more, there won't ever be Shore Leave or a new assignment or even retirement … I just have to move slowly, take down some barriers, be respectful of the way things should be done, set the example I expect the rest of the crew to follow."

"So I'm helping you write the manual on Battlestar Relations?" The blonde quipped, offering the Admiral a wink. Helena pursed her lips, remaining silent for several seconds as she considered her response carefully. " … Perhaps the first draft."

Throwing back the blanket and pulling her long legs up by the knees, Gina leaned over and collapsed the barrier by the side of the bed downwards. Swinging herself over, she gingerly placed bare feet to the decking and tested her weight on them. "I think I'm ready to put you to bed, now."

Folding her arms across her chest, Helena showed only the slightest widening of her eyes in surprise. "I think it's rather you who needs to be put to bed, Miss Inviere. You haven't received clearance from the CMO or Officer Commanding to leave the Infirmary."

"I'm quietly confident," Gina nodded. "Besides, I think it's only appropriate I debrief with the Admiral in person … Somewhere a little more private although, I'd be happy to continue here if you think these curtains are sound-proofed too."

Wheeling around on the spot, back pain forgotten for the here and now, Helena Cain breezed through the plastic curtain dividing the bed from the rest of the Infirmary and set about securing the CMO's agreement to release his newest patient.

It'd been a long day and given the way the pit of her stomach fluttered with the merest thought of the beautiful woman whose company she'd just left, and the way her mind felt invigorated and eager at the thought of enjoying said company in absolute and complete privacy …

The Admiral suspected with a small smile that it could well be an even longer night.

...

* * *

...

For all the noise aboard a Battlestar – the thrum of the massive engines pushing the symbol of Colonial military might through the blackness of space, the pounding of hundreds of boots as they walked the same metal hallways, the scream of Vipers and the dull roar of Raptors as they tore free of the ship or lazily rolled forwards, Pegasus could demonstrate an incredible silence.

Locking the hatch as it sealed closed with a dull thump, Kendra rested her weight against the doorway and closed her eyes. The faintest rumble from the ship's powerplant reverberated through the decking from the bowels of engineering, but beyond that the Galley was as silent as any prospective part of a warship could be. Pushing off from the hatch, she circled the rectangular table crowned with scales, chopping blocks, knives and rolling pins; her eyes scanning the shelf above, crammed full as it was with row upon row of ingredients jars.

Examining each label until she found what she had been told to look for, the Captain hesitantly extended an arm and picked a nondescript container from the shelf, setting it down on the tabletop. With the value of currency only slightly greater than the worth of hard vacuum out beyond the hull, bartering remained the only viable method of exchanging goods and services. Access to the resources of the military made that bartering easier, but the cost to obtain the contents of the jar she rested a hand upon had been particularly high.

Exhaling loudly, Kendra twisted the cap free of the jar and reached inside. With great care she pulled out one of a half-dozen small glass cylinders, each one terminating in a sharp metal point protected by a thin plastic sleeve. Examining the syringe in her hands and satisfied the high cost of obtaining the stuff hadn't been for nothing, she set it down on the tabletop and began to unbutton her duty jacket.

Dropping the tunic onto the table and pulling the plastic sleeve free of the sharp point it protected, Kendra dipped her chin and swept her long black hair free of the back of her neck. Swinging the syringe around, she did her best to line it up without actually being able to see it. Twisting her body to the side and using the reflective bottom of one of the frying pans hanging from the edge of the shelf, the Captain was finally able to line up.

She hesitated for a moment, instant forgiveness hovering a few scant inches from her soft flesh. Appearance was important to her; not simply the way she felt she looked, but the opinion of others and it was for that reason she locked herself in a kitchen, hiding illegally-obtained prescription medication in jars on shelves and jabbing herself in the back of the neck. She couldn't follow the traditional choice of self-destruction in the Fleet – Ambrosia. The thought of the smell on her breath, the stink in her clothes and the way it would show everyone, the Admiral included, just how weak she truly was made Shaw sick to her stomach.

Sometimes she would go days, occasionally a week without coming here. Even more occasionally, coming here and opening the jar would be enough and Kendra could leave without ever poisoning her body, strong enough to last another few days … Or hours. Ultimately however, she always surrendered to the sweet release it promised; the way it cleared her head and pushed all doubt well below her gut and down to her toes.

There was no incredible high, and there were no vivid hallucinations of flying through stars and worlds, free to drift on the stellar winds. She didn't need to escape from her life, only a little help in dealing with the experiences it brought and the memories it created. The newest in a long line of unpleasant reminders flashed through Kendra's consciousness; the jerk of her finger on the trigger, the ear-splitting crack of a weapon discharge, the powerful kick against her arm and the shudder of Christopher Mearns as his body absorbed a round which left him dead before he hit the decking.

Her subconscious acted swiftly and plunged the needle into the softness of her neck, finger pushing down on the plunger and delivering liquid forgiveness that took only a few moments to begin its magic work. Pulling the needle free and replacing the plastic cover with more than a little effort of concentration required, Shaw dropped the spent syringe back into the jar and rested her weight on her arms. Squeezing her eyes shut, she allowed the initial, intense wave of euphoria to pass as it always did until the feeling returned to her legs and she felt able to support her own weight.

Kendra stepped back from the table, testing her feet as she did every single time. Replacing the lid and the jar on the shelf, she slid her tunic back onto exposed shoulders and swung her hair back over. By the time the Captain had buttoned her duty jacket back up, all memories of Mearns had retreated back, content to wait until her medically-dispensed relief wore off in a few short hours.

Resting her weight against the table's edge, Kendra leaned over and flicked the switch of a dented, faded wireless receiver. The unit leapt to crackling, fizzing life; squealing and crying until she adjusted the frequency and traded some of the white noise for the unmistakable background chatter of human voices.

Closing her eyes, the Captain lost herself in the daily goings-on, politics and dramas of the last forty seven thousand people to exist anywhere in the known Galaxy. With dozens of voices clamouring to be heard over the wireless, interfering with each other and cutting off sentences and reports, the Battlestar suddenly seemed a far less quieter place.

...

* * *

...

Gina knew well enough from having spent months aboard not only Pegasus, but other installations in the (formerly) wider Colonial Fleet that to succeed in military life required a certain degree of personal strength. Those who had served for years – senior NCOs and Officers of mid-to-command rank – developed tough outer shells that could repel the most intense fire, giving them a powerful aura that inspired respect and obedience in those beneath them.

What Gina also knew well enough that, perhaps, many others did not was that this aura was not optional; once established after many years of effort and dedication it could not easily be dismantled or turned off. Like a wall made all the stronger if built without a doorway, one could only pass through by dismantling or breaching it entirely.

Focusing her attention on the body she straddled below, the Blonde snatched up a small bottle from the bedside table and tipped it over; spreading a small pool of perfumed oil where the olive green-and-grey fatigues had ridden up to reveal flesh rarely kissed by the sun, let alone anything else. Replacing the bottle on the side, Gina Rubbed a little of the oil between her fingertips before gently, carefully laying her hands on the exposed skin beneath.

She felt Helena tense up as the instant contact was made but she persevered, beginning to work the hilt of her palms down and against the angry, taut muscles. Her ministrations were caring but insistent, fingertips pressing and rolling across the small of the older woman's back, sliding underneath the under-shirt and tank top before reaching up towards the shoulder blades.

It did not happen instantly but slowly, eventually, the ramrod-stiff back below her thighs began to melt into Gina's touch; surrendering to the urge and relaxing, eliciting the slightest relieved sigh from a face resting on a pillow somewhere above the Blonde's soft hands. A smile crept across her face as she felt the Admiral sink into the mattress under her attentions, relieved to see a little of the incredible weight the last remaining Flag Officer of the Colonial Fleet bore lifted, somewhat. There was nothing metaphysical, or metaphorical about the strain Cain carried on her shoulders and what Gina knew from afar she only confirmed with her hands. The tightness in the muscle, the stiffness of her joints; a beautiful Temple slowly being crushed into the boggy earth by the incredible weight of the world above.

Satisfied the oil had long been worked into the pale skin at her touch Gina leaned down, substituting her fingertips for her lips. The back she straddled arched in surprise, a gasp escaping from muffled features that only widened the other woman's smile as she laid a number of butterfly kisses along the small of Helena's back. Tugging up gently on the Admiral's under-shirt, Gina asked a wordless question.

Slowly – hesitantly – Helena reached back with her own arms, lifting herself up from the mattress slightly before taking hold of her fatigues and lifting them up and over her head. They flew over the side of the bed and to the decking, forgotten, as Gina continued her trail of kisses heading ever-further north; spending a few moments brushing against the point where Cain's shoulders met together. Gently capturing a handful of raven-coloured locks in her fingers, Gina pulled the hair aside and brought her kisses to the nape of Helena's neck.

Again slowly, battling to overcome the powerful urge to jerk away at the intimacy of the contact, Helena turned her head to the side and offered the inside of her neck up to the impossible softness of the lips tracing patterns across her flushed skin. Those same lips wasted no time taking up the offer, and the Admiral found herself having to bite down on her own to keep quiet. Feeling her closed palm nudged by another as it rested on the pillow above, Helena uncurled her fingers as Gina's took hold of them.

Stretching over slightly, the Blonde laid the side of her own head against the pillow, facing the slightly-hidden features opposite. "Come out and say hello ..." Gina whispered, edging her lips closer and squeezing the callused fingers held in her own. The steely blue eyes that finally emerged to directly look into hers were powerful, decisive – the gaze of a woman with all the expected strength of will and mind necessary to survive in the position she now found herself in. They commanded not just one Battlestar but, at least indirectly, two and the decisions they took part in affected the entire surviving remnant of the Human Race.

And yet, something else shimmered inside their locked gates. If Helena's gaze was as strong and reserved as the densest, thickest pack ice then cracks had begun to break the field; melting the bergs and pulling apart the flows until something altogether more uncertain shone through. Something that did not wear the rank pins of a Rear-Admiral, something that did not command Battlestars or the power to send thousands of men, women and children to their deaths if necessary.

Vulnerability.

Gina had no intention of leaving that feeling alone, and she did so for only the time it took her to lean forwards and capture Helena's lips with her own. The meeting was chaste at first, closed and reserved but where a simple kiss would ease in pressure and break away, the contact remained firm. Gina felt the other woman begin to push back, seeking a harder, firmer response she was only too keen to accommodate. Awkwardness, unease and shyness evaporated as surely as plasma turned on ice and in one single move, Helena shifted until her body pressed into Gina's.

Relaxing into the kiss, the blonde allowed herself to be pushed back slightly into the bed as Helena grew more bold, hands running through the younger woman's honey-coloured locks as their lips crashed and bruised together in raw, unfettered passion. Reaching around with her single free hand Gina made short work of the bra that still clung around her chest, absent-mindedly casting it over her head to join the Admiral's under-shirt on the decking. The new expanse of flesh exposed was greedily claimed by the dark-haired woman opposite, whose hand slipped free of Gina's to join the other in exploring the voluptuous figure now almost totally open to her.

Gina buried her face on Cain's shoulder as she felt the careful and not-so-careful explorations, felt strong hands caressing and playing between the valley of her breasts before taking their time on said mounds. She gasped, beginning to grind her body against Helena's as the latter found the cherry-bright nipples crowning the hill of each breast and took a moment to play. Running her hands through the Admiral's long dark hair, entwining it in her fingertips she urged the older woman on; whispering sweet nothings and sweeter moans from lips pressed just a little short of Helena's ear.

Steadily, Helena's body began to grind against the blonde's; the pace beginning to quicken as each woman sensed and matched the other in thrusts. Shapely thighs slid over toned opposites, bringing both women ever-closer to each other and an incredible, building wave of pleasure. Tracing Helena's body with a single hand, pausing to squeeze the exposed breasts and travelling up to rub against a proud nipple, Gina led her finger down past the naval, disappearing between their rhythmic hips and out of sight.

Whatever self-control remained Helena's evaporated in an instant as Gina's fingertip nudged between sensitive, enlivened folds and paid particular attention to the single nub of flesh where the engorged folds rose upwards to meet. Pushing down against it, Gina could feel the body opposite shudder, thrusting hard and up against her gentle contact, demanding more. A whimper of raw desire finally found an escape from the Admiral's voice as she squeezed her eyes shut – hands content to close around Gina's back and hold the younger woman tightly.

Hot and enraptured centres crashing together, bodies slick with a thin sheen of sweat born from desire; lips finding each other in passionate embraces that almost threatened to draw attention away from the rhythm both women had found together; everything came together and built a mighty wave that first drew a long breath. For a singular moment both had clarity, time for a single few thoughts each without the burden of reality, before the climax returned to carry their consciousness away from their bodies.

Helena felt eighteen again. She could call the sky beautiful with its midday sun, and hear the song of the birds in the sky. The summer fast approached and she had almost six weeks until she began at Tauron Defence Academy, six weeks to enjoy life before her career and adulthood beckoned. The grass was freshly cut and it competed with the wild flowers for her sense of smell, but she had no favourite. Drawing in a great lungful of air, Helena spread her arms wide and craned her chin up to glance into the bright blue above her head.

One day she would have her own Battlestar, she was sure. One day she would make important decisions, be respected like the men and women who would soon shape and mould her into an Officer of the Colonial Fleet. One day she would see the stars every day and call them her home …

But until then, she was content to simply live. To enjoy the beauty of Tauron in summer bloom without assignments, without deadlines; without rotas and regimes, without rules and regulations. There was only Helena, Tauron, the flowers and the sky above her head.

Tauron and everything on it dissipated in a wave of indescribable euphoria, dissolving the flowers and distilling the grass into yet more euphoria that took her from her feet and catapulted her up into the blue.

From the crest of her climax, Helena could watch the stars themselves, each one a bright point of burning light that helped her see the shape of the Galaxy. As the fire in her veins began to finally burn itself out each of point of light went black as if somehow, she had come to see the end of all things and the death of even the stars themselves. Finally becoming aware of her own body she rolled her eyes closed and when she opened them again, Helena stared directly into a concerned and beautiful face.

"That was a wonderful massage ..." Cain whispered, pulling Gina into a tight embrace she was only too willing to be a part of. Planting a lingering kiss on the blonde's enticing lips Helena settled her head against the pillow, now keenly aware of the incredible fatigue the day – not to mention a powerful orgasm – had piled upon her. "What time is it? She half-yawned, wearily.

Gina smiled, leaving a kiss on Helena's forehead as she sat up to glance over at the bedside table. "A little after four ..." of forcing herself to sit up and throw the covers away, exposing her thighs that still felt light and

The bed shifted as the Admiral sighed, grunting with the effort of forcing herself to sit up and throw the covers away, exposing her thighs that still felt light and weak. An arm gently braced against her shoulder held her back however, and she turned back to receive a glare from her lover.

"Where do you think you're going, exactly?" Gina scowled, absurdly considering the sheer nakedness the irritation was displayed with.

"I've got the CIC in three hours …" Helena shrugged, her tone sounding – equally absurdly – like she was explaining herself rather than stating a fact. "There's paperwork to get in order before I'm On-Duty-"

"My Gods, you're always on duty," Gina interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "Just this once, pretend like you listen to me and stay in bed. If it makes it easier, pretend I'm the Admiral and I'm giving you a direct order not to leave my side."

Hesitating, Helena remained motionless for several seconds before making a grand show of throwing herself back onto the mattress, folding her arms across her chest and offering Gina a scowl of her own, "Fine – anything you say, Admiral."

Grinning and pulling the pouting Flag Officer in close, Gina reached out over the bed and pulled the blankets back into place.

...

* * *

...

Away from planetary atmospheres the concept of day and night meant nothing, at least, technically aboard space-faring vessels and stations. Permanent lighting and temperatures maintained at a constant level meant productivity could be maintained twenty four hours a day, irrespective of where the sun would normally be in the sky. While technology took no notice of the time of day, the crew were altogether more fallible. Exhaustive tests, carried out long before Man flew armoured Battlestars bristling with devastating weaponry, had proven the necessity of replicating the cycle of Day/Night aboard ship.

It took Gina's eyes only a moment to adjust to the darkness of the greater cabin as she stepped out from the bedroom, pulling her hair free from the collar of the simple grey shirt she pulled over her head. Senses already sharp without having to blink away the sleepiness of what would normally have been too few hours' sleep, she crossed the short distance to a wide desk set back from the wall. Piled high with countless ochre-coloured folders, documents and optical discs it was virtually impossible to see the desktop itself.

If any inanimate object could capture the ethic of Admiral Helena Cain, this desk was surely it. Gina managed a wistful smile at the thought, even as she dropped the duffel bag held in her hand to the floor and began to sort through the contents of the tabletop. The slightest murmur from the room beyond and Gina froze as surely as a statue, her hand resting lightly on top of a pile of folders. Breath held still for almost a minute in an incredible show of stamina, she carefully lifted her hand away and turned on the balls of her feet.

As if preparing to lead a squad into the bedroom Gina pressed her back up against the doorway, resting her cheek against the wall. Cautiously and painfully slowly, she eased her head around the frame and chanced a glance towards the bed. Seeing Helena had moved no further than onto her back, Gina slumped back against the wall, sighing softly. Collecting herself and re-entering the bedroom, she leaned over and cleared some of the sleep-tussled hair from her sleeping beauty below.

"I'm sorry ..." She whispered, planting a kiss on Helena's forehead. Turning back to the unfortunate matter at hand Gina returned to the desk, leant down to the duffel bag and tugged the zip open. With a final pained glance towards the bedroom, she began to sort through the folders, documents and discs on the desktop.

...

* * *

...

**To Be Continued …**


	3. Waist Deep in the Mud

_Pairing : Helena Cain / Gina Inviere_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I take the time to write, please take the time to let me know you've read it._

_Author's notes : This is a response to one of the items posted on the Passion & Perfection Livejournal's "Christmas Wish List"; asking for a story featuring Helena and Gina in a happy ending, rather than the terrible end both suffer in the canon conclusion of their relationship._

___I'd originally planned on putting in a number of flashbacks into this story, focusing on the build-up to the boarding of the Scylla, Gina before her insertion into Scorpio Fleet Yards and one or two scenes with Helena as a young woman (18 - 25). Although I wrote some of these scenes, the story began to threaten to grow out of all control so I shelved the flashbacks, and decided to bring it to a close directly._

_____I'm open to posting some of these flashbacks as shorts, however, if anyone shows an interest. _

* * *

_Chapter III : Luck of the Gods.

* * *

_

Falling hard to her knees, the breath knocked from her lungs so she had nothing in her chest to even cough with, Kendra slumped to the decking and understood too late she had killed herself.

Rolling onto the flat of her back to stare up at the kitchen ceiling, her hands groped blindly for something – anything – to help but only succeeded in curling around the used syringes that had fallen to the floor alongside her.

Watching the world around her begin to swirl, the fine detail of the bulkheads and the angles of the table above her head blurring and dissolving, the Captain found a moment to dwell on the ignominy of her end – blue in the face, on the floor of a galley surrounded all around by the paraphernalia of her vice. If nothing else it'd be an open-and-shut case for the Master of Arms; yet another feckless dreg who couldn't handle the pressure and chose, without any thought towards the greater suffering of Humanity, to take the easy way out.

The room disappeared to black and Kendra found it hard to think about anything, her mind slowly starved and her brain increasingly lobotomised. Her limbs so heavy that she could no longer feel them, let alone move them Kendra felt a warmth, like a thick blanket, draw over her consciousness. For the briefest of moments she hoped with the entirety of her being, with everything her soul could bring to bare, that she'd see her mother again.

Captain Shaw's world exploded into pain as she felt her body, and all the aches it contain, roused from the deck and unceremoniously toppled over and onto its front. Needing no further encouragement her gut heaved and twisted and Kendra retched violently, emptying itself where but a second earlier it would surely have choked her to death. Barely able to avoid dropping her features into the puddle of fluid she'd deposited on the deck, Kendra groaned aloud and squeezed her eyes shut as the blackness of the world returned to painful colour.

"Captain!" A voice shouted loudly in her ear, forcing her to wince. "Can you hear me?"

"Shut the frak up," Kendra groaned, jerking her head away from the voice and settling onto her side. Massaging the sides of her skull with her hands, she peered out into the wider room from behind heavily-lidded eyes and took in the face staring back. "I guess we're even ..."

Gina only leaned over and clamping her hands on Shaw's shoulders, pulled her effortlessly along the floor and up against the side of the long table dominating the kitchen. Giving the Captain a long, hard look, she folded her arms across her chest and nodded. "I guess so."

Climbing to her feet and over to the sink she filled a glass at the tap, all the while hardly taking her eyes from Kendra. Stooping over and making sure the other woman had the water securely in her hand, Gina glanced about the floor, the syringes and the broken jar lying a short distance away.

"I told you never to take more than one at a time," She hissed with a burst of anger. Midway through a gulp Kendra coughed, spitting some of the water back into the glass as she struggled to regain her breath and composure. "What the frak are you talking about?"

"Don't take me for a fool!" Gina warned, jabbing a finger towards the prone woman and climbing to her feet. "You think you're the only one around here with problems? You think you're the only one struggling to keep a lid on it? Seeing as the gun that ended up pointed in my face yesterday was the first one I've had since I started "helping" … I think I'm doing a pretty good job."

Kendra groaned, realisation dawning. "You're involved with the Black Market ..."

"I'm not interested in exploiting people," The Blonde replied, shaking her head. "I want to help people, even if the only way to help them is to go against the teachings of the Gods. Some people need Ambrosia, others just need to talk … Some still, like you, need something a little stronger."

Sitting back on her haunches, Gina frowned. "There's no-one else coming; you're all there is. Fifty thousand lives out there relying on less than four thousand on-board Pegasus and Galactica. Everyone's under the same pressure but as soon as the men and women with the gold on their sleeves break … Everyone else will follow."

"You know exactly what I mean," She warned, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I know what happened aboard the Scylla, you were in the Hangar yesterday … You know what happens when people are pushed to their very limit; what happens when they break. Ever since we blind-jumped away from the Colonies, from everything we ever knew, I've been doing what I can for anyone who needs it. What I'm doing breaches so many regulations I've probably earned at least one death sentence …"

Gina trailed off, her eyes leaving the other woman to focus on something well beyond the bulkheads of the kitchen. " … Probably more than one. It's wrong, but better wrong than dead."

Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Shaw felt her eyes tighten and the unmistakable hotness of tears begin to well. She fought it for the briefest of moments but her mind had waged that same battle a thousand times in the preceding months and this time, it could offer no more resistance. Droplets drew red tracks down and across flushed cheeks as she craned her neck back, resting her head against the table's side and focusing on the ceiling above.

"I've done some terrible things ..." Kendra managed between racking sobs.

...

* * *

...

Breaking away from the last remnants of her dreams, features creasing to a frown as an arm swept the mattress but found nothing more than empty space and ruffled sheets, Helena reluctantly lifted her head from the pillow. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to consciousness and the relative darkness of the cabin, she heaved herself upwards and drew her legs over the side of the bed. Gathering sleep-tussled hair and throwing it over her shoulder, Helena yawned widely and climbed to her feet.

Padding out into the wider cabin, hands running along the band of her grey briefs as she glanced about for the beautiful blonde who had made the last few hours travel by faster-than-light, Cain frowned as she traipsed back into the bedroom and ducked her head inside the connecting bathroom – everything as it had been before they had retired to bed, if not sleep. Retracing her steps and stabbing out a palm to bring up the ceiling lights, she grimaced at the sudden brightness; holding a hand up to shield her eyes as they adjusted.

The frown carving itself eve-deeper upon her features Helena walked towards the expansive desk set away from the bulkhead opposite, a hand subconsciously cupping the small of her back as she stopped to gaze down at its polished glass top. For a few moments she saw nothing out of the ordinary, until she focused on the image of her reflection gazing back up at her from the surface of the desk and the single, ochre-coloured folder.

A single folder replacing the dozens and dozens that had waited patiently for the Admiral's review only a few hours before.

Blinking rapidly, as if unable to accept what her eyes could see, Helena cocked her head to the side and read her first name; written in the thick red line of a lipstick scored directly against the front of the folder. Extending a hand out unsteadily, she pulled the folder across to the edge of the desk and pulled the cover over.

Cain quickly identified the contents as a copy of one of the thousands of entries from Commander Adama's intricate logs, detailing the misadventures and happenings aboard the Galactica from the afternoon the Cylons had all-but wiped out Humanity, to the morning before their incredibly fortunate blind rendezvous with Pegasus. She was determined to review every entry, if only to gain a better insight into the command style of the Old Man but with nothing but her eyes to assist her, it would take quite some time.

Scanning the document, Helena gathered the entry covered an accusation made by a woman from the Olympic Carrier – a passenger liner later destroyed as a precaution on the orders of Adama – and levelled at Doctor Giaus Baltar, regarding the latter's possible complicity in the Cylon attack on the Twelve Colonies.

Flipping the page over, the Admiral quickly learned the accusation and the evidence submitted alongside it had been fraudulent, with the charges against Doctor Baltar being summarily dismissed. Indeed as much as half of Adama's log entry seemed rather more concerned with how the original accuser, a woman by the apparent name of Shelly Godfrey, had managed not only escape from her Marine Guards but apparently disappear from the Battlestar and the wider fleet, utterly. Turning the final page of the report, Cain's gaze passed over the grainy image of the supposed Miss Godfrey – captured by the Galactica's security system as she stood in its CIC.

Subtly different with a curly bob of peroxide-white blonde hair and a pair of brown, thin-framed glasses, Gina's unmistakable features nonetheless stared back from the black-and-white screen capture. Stooping over, lips agape and her own eyes wide, Cain tore the picture free of the page and held it up to the overhead lamps; as if the realisation dawning in her mind was a mere trick of the light.

Helena stumbled backwards, casting the image away as if it burned her flesh where it touched as she lost her balance and fell down to the decking. Fingers trembling as her breath came in shuddering, jarring bursts, the Admiral felt her gut wrench and could do no more than turn her head to the side, as her stomach heaved up and forced its contents out over the carpet. Retching and gagging, her mind turned its full power towards the inescapable, undeniable truth; a truth that had been mocked when uttered by a lone pilot, written off as the deluded ramblings of a madman and put down as he was by pistol, made the entire, ugly reality.

Gina was a Cylon and all at once, Helena could feel her touch. The caress of lithe fingertips across the nape of her neck; the way her back would arch up to meet the younger woman's ministrations; the pressure of the blonde's lips against her own as they crashed together and the grinding of two centres moving as one. Glancing down at her own arms as she rolled onto her back, Helena could only continue onto her side and retch anew – coughing and spluttering as she struggled to breathe.

What terrible damage had the Commanding Officer of not only Pegasus but nominally Galactica, and the sole military authority of the remaining Human Race, unwittingly facilitated? What precious secrets had been spilled, revealed and enjoyed by the enemy on her watch and from her bed? How could a Flag-Officer of the Colonial Fleet take a Cylon to her bed and commit the most terrible treason?

Pressing her forehead into the carpet and the decking it laid upon, Helena slowly climbed to her knees, using her desk as a support for legs that suddenly lacked the strength to stand on their own. Stumbling away towards the bedroom, she fell to one knee before the night stand aside the bed and began to rake through the drawers. Her nostrils flared with the faint but distinct smell of sex; as if it wafted not only from the crumpled sheets and the mattress but her skin as well.

Cain shuddered at the images flashing through her mind; the love-making, tender and passionate; earnest and desperate, embarrassed and so terribly needed … All with a synthetic woman – a robot fashioned in the image of a person. An agent of the enemy that had reduced the entirety of Human Civilisation to less than fifty thousand; an agent of the enemy who had succeeded in seducing the highest military authority of that broken fragment, who had been taken to her bed and slept beneath her sheets and all the while, secured the secrets needed to finally complete their genocide.

Throwing the clothing crumpled in her hands to the floor, Helena pulled the pistol free of the drawer and made short work of double-checking the magazine it held. Thrusting one leg after the other into a pair of fatigues and pulling them roughly up around her waist, Cain pushed herself to standing and stormed from the bedroom.

Helena Crossed the cabin and disengaged the privacy lock, disappearing barefoot into the corridors beyond with only a vest, fatigues, a loaded pistol and the most terrible shame, sorrow and rage that could be attributed or imagined to a wronged person.

...

* * *

...

Eventually there were no more tears left to cry, sobs subsiding until the body Gina held in her arms stiffened slightly and pushed forwards, free of her grasp. Turning her puffy, red gaze over towards the blonde who extended a hand out to tuck a lock of Kendra's hair back behind an ear, the Captain grimaced at the dryness scratching her throat.

"Thanks for listening," She managed, eventually. Gina smiled and shrugged her shoulders slightly, Offering little more than a knowing nod. "I told you things only the Admiral knows … I told you things only the Gods know, probably. You didn't frown once – didn't judge me once; just listened while I bared what's left of my soul …"

"I know a guy," Gina began with a thoughtful glance up to the ceiling. "I suppose you could call him my assistant; he's got a talent for finding what I need for the people who need it. He's got a saying, I think it helps him justify helping the kind of people in the Fleet that might not otherwise "deserve" our help."

Hunching her shoulders, lowering her voice an octave and grumbling loudly Gina did her best at an impression; "It's difficult to find the moral high ground when we're all standing in the mud."

Kendra nodded, resting the back of her head against the cupboard behind. "Wise words … How'd he end up as your assistant?"

"I try to stay honest, even if what I'm doing isn't to the strictest letter of the law," The taller woman sighed. "I don't charge more than cost, I've got a strict list of items I won't supply no matter the need and I never, ever judge. Still, I live and work on a Battlestar, and the last thing I want is to bring the ship or its crew into disrepute because of what I'm up to on the side.

"I met him on-board the Prometheus – not long after we found Galactica and her fleet. He was struggling with life, had his own problems and I did my best to help him. He wanted to do the same for me and, eventually, we agreed to see how many others out there needed something to help get them through the day. You've met him already anyway …"

Gina nodded towards the jagged remains of the broken jar scattered over the flooring, "He gave you what you wanted. As I recall, he also gave you an important warning about how many to take in any one go."

Kendra looked away, embarrassed, as she struggled to answer the pointed reminder of her own stupidity and deeper, more difficult questions that went unasked but were no less potent. After several moments' of silence she turned back towards the blonde, but got no further than parting her lips when the pressure doors ahead slid open with a soft hiss.

"Admiral," The Captain half-coughed, scrambling to her feet and presenting a salute without the slightest thought beyond the automatic. After a few seconds spent staring directly at the bulkhead opposite without any response, Kendra's eyes chanced a glance to the left. What they found caused the palm held tightly against her forehead to slacken, and her head to follow the path of her gaze.

The normally impassive, stony-faced Commanding Officer of the Pegasus wore a look upon her features Kendra struggled to place; neither a frown, or a scowl, or surprise but somehow a mixture of all three and more. What could not be confused, however, was the depth of the raw feeling on display – from lines carved into the Admiral's forehead to the lips pulled back and the hint of teeth bared beneath.

That alone was before Kendra glanced down to see, amongst other things, a thin top doing little to hide the older woman's cleavage, the side-arm held tightly in her white-knuckled hand and bare-feet pressed to the cold decking, without any hint of discomfort. Her eyes widening, Shaw's gaze shot back to the weapon, minus any obvious holster or any desire to use one.

"Admiral ..." Kendra repeated uncertainly.

The seconds of silence stretched onwards until they became minutes and the Captain twisted her head back towards Gina, who stood as a diametric opposite to the Admiral. Her features were smooth, unruffled and there seemed almost a peace, a serenity over her. Kendra felt as if she occupied some bizarre middle ground, between the fury and rage crashing free from her superior officer in front and the peacefulness calmly radiating away from the blonde behind.

It was Cain who broke the silence, eventually; her voice a whisper with the sharpness of a razor pressed against a clammy throat. "You're dismissed, Captain."

For the first time since Officer's Training School, certainly for the first time she could remember, Kendra hesitated; the ill-feeling and the terrible rage barely being held in check were more than enough to suggest something reprehensible was about to take place, something her mind pointed out was far less likely to take place if she held her ground.

Every facet of training, however, demanded she dip her head, step through the pressure doors and disappear into the bowels of the ship. Orders were not requests, and every tenant of the military was founded on this single, inviolable and supreme law that applied from the President of the Twelve Colonies through a lengthy chain, terminating in the most junior Deckhand.

The decision was made far easier by a gentle hand placed on her shoulder and a soft whisper almost sung into her ear. "It'll be fine," Gina added with a reassuring squeeze. Kendra shifted her gaze until she stared directly into the other woman's eyes, only a few inches away. Deep pools of cool blue seemed so sure, so absolutely resolute that Shaw felt her own worries calmed and soothed. Maybe the combination of almost choking to death on her own vomit and baring her soul for the first time in as long as she could remember, had combined to skew Kendra's awareness. Maybe there were a thousand reasonable explanations at hand she just couldn't see …

If nothing else, no-one in any real danger would be so calm about it.

Nodding slowly and finding herself once more, Kendra managed another salute towards the Admiral and nodded, clasping her hands behind her back before stepping around the Pegasus' Commanding Officer and disappearing into the corridors beyond. Cain made no reaction other than to turn her head slightly as the Captain stepped over the threshold, throwing out a palm and crashing her fist against the auto-lock function. With an affirmative tone the doors sealed closed, the clang of magnetic locks slamming into place reverberating around the small compartment.

With a snarl Helena stepped forwards and closed her free hand around Gina's neck, pushing her backwards until she crashed into the bulkhead wall opposite with a dull thud and the slightest grimace of pain. Wasting little time the Admiral brought up her sidearm, gripped painfully tightly so that the flesh of her fingers was a bright white, and pressed the muzzle against Gina's temple. Teeth bared in a feral sneer, a forefinger slipped inside the trigger guard and began to squeeze down.

Surprisingly it was the Admiral's voice, and not the loud crack of a discharging firearm, that broke the furious silence. "What documents were you able to transmit back to the enemy?"

Unhelpfully for the answers she sought, Helena tightened her grip on the throat in her hand so that the voice which replied was a gravelly, grating grunt. "Nothing … There was no transmission."

The choking grip became a strangle as Cain's fingers closed together, so tightly that no useful air could pass between Gina's gasping lips and no oxygen could be found from it. Fidgeting slightly, twisting and turning in the Admiral's vice-like grip but offering no meaningful resistance, Gina's cheeks flushed an angry crimson as her eyelids began to flutter. Tipping her chin upwards as her gaze became unfocused and glassy, Gina's head lolled to the side.

With all the strength taken from her body to allow her heart to beat a few moments longer, there was nothing to prevent her painful drop to the decking as the strangling hold on her throat was released, abruptly. Banging her skull against the bulkhead on the way down, Gina rolled onto her back – panting as she lay sprawled on the deck.

Helena dropped to her knees, gathering up a handful of blonde hair and pulling Gina's head up from the decking. Pressing the muzzle of the pistol against the same spot as previous, marked as it was by an angry red welt already pushing up from the flawless skin surrounding, the Admiral showed no interest in letting up the interrogation. "What documents were you able to transmit back to the enemy?"

Head straining against Cain's hold with each cough that racked her burning chest, Gina tried to blink away the sting in her watering eyes. "Nothing …" She barely-whispered, raising a shaking hand and pointing towards the table. "Documents in the bag, over there ..."

Following her vague gesture Helena's eyes narrowed further, as she debated the next move to be made. Releasing her grip on a handful of Gina's hair, she pressed her palm against the prone woman's forehead and forced her skull back against the deck with another painful thud. Climbing back to her feet the Admiral eased her way backwards, gun arm outstretched with an unwavering aim, even as she took half an eye away and glanced towards the duffel bag sat on the counter.

Tugging the zipper across and peering inside, some of the raw fury on the older woman's face gave way to confusion as her full concentration turned to the contents within. Rifling through the bag, heaping the ochre-coloured folders and optical discs out and onto the tabletop, she finally snatched the empty carrier up and turned it over; shaking it over the decking before casting it down to the floor.

Grinding her teeth together Helena stalked forwards and reaching down, took a fistful of Gina's collar and dragged the other woman on; pulling her from the decking to crash against the bulkhead beyond, with little more than a grunt of effort. Without as much as a pause to gather her breath, Cain brought her pistol to bare and pressed the blackened muzzle against the underside of Gina's jaw.

"Tell me what you've been doing aboard my ship!" Helena hissed, pushing her sidearm's blunt discharge barrel ever harder against the pale skin beneath. "Tell me what you've been doing or Gods help me … I'll frakking send you back to whatever bolted you together!"

Squeezing her eyes shut tightly as she sucked in a lungful of air, Gina managed to angle her head downwards as much as the weapon pressing underneath her chin allowed. Matching Cain's gaze her words came as a whisper, so quiet the Admiral had to strain her own ears to hear any of it.

"I saved you from yourself," Gina managed, her eyes narrowing in a sudden and surprising show of defiance. "I saved you from yourself because deep down, underneath that uniform … Underneath your skin and bones, you're just like what you imagine the Cylons to be."

Managing a strangled cry as the butt of the pistol formerly pointed at her forehead crashed against her temple, Gina felt the cold metal of the deck go a small way to cooling the terrible pain making her vision swim and her limbs feel heavy and slow. With a wheezing cough and a grunt she forced herself onto her back, glassy eyes staring up at the figure looming over her being and the weapon once again pointed in her direction.

"Why does that upset you?" She mumbled, raising a trembling hand to wipe at the hot, red slickness that ran free from her wounded temple. "If you were anything less, you'd be long dead – so would everyone else on this ship. Or is it something else? Is it the way I helped put you back together-"

Helena drove the flat of her foot into the gut of the woman lying prone at her feet, teeth bared in a snarl as her finger pressed lightly against the pistol's trigger. "Shut the frak up! I don't have to listen to your lies any more!"

Coughing violently and pressing her face into the decking, Gina struggled for breath as she rolled onto her side and away from the vicious blow. Spitting out what blood had filled her mouth from the cut across her temple, the blonde propped herself up with an elbow.

"If you're not going to listen … Pull the trigger."

"Go ahead!" Gina shouted loudly, levering herself up and onto her knees, eyes deviant and lips parted in a snarl as she shuffled forwards. "Shoot me Helena! Shoot me in the frakking head! Don't worry about this being some sort of elaborate escape plan – we're well outside of Resurrection Range. If I die here, now, I die forever!"

Pulling the trigger back until she could feel the subtle change in the pistol's centre of gravity that told her the igniter arm had shifted forwards, Cain remained utterly silent. Without the slightest hint of fear the object of the weapon's aim continued to shuffle forwards, until Gina could press the clammy, bloody skin of her forehead against the pistol muzzle and offer her own pressure.

"Shoot me!" Gina screamed. "You slept with the enemy! Gave her access to untold secrets! It's her fault you left behind civilians! It's her fault you shot your XO in the head! It's her fault the Twelve Colonies were wiped from the stars! Do your duty, Admiral! Kill her!"

Finally, eventually, Helena's aim lowered and slowly – very slowly – the pistol tracked away from Gina's features to hang in mid-air, aiming at nothingness. The deep lines of rage seemed to ebb away and the Admiral's face calmed; tension running away from hunched shoulders and a taut neck.

Without warning and with only a glance down at the pistol she carried, Helena brought the weapon up to press against her own temple and duly pulled the trigger.

A terrible bang rang out and rolled against the walls, sounding like the peal of some enormous bell as one stood directly inside the waist. A brief spark as the round impacted, and the slightest dent marked the spot where the bullet found its target – well wide of the mark of the Admiral's skull for which it had been destined.

Feeling the air squeezed from her lungs by the force of impact with the decking behind, Helena rolled onto her back and desperately tried to blink away the stars that all-but blinded her. Shaking her vision clear, she spied the pistol an arm's reach away. Closing her fingers around its butt, Cain abruptly felt a body straddling her waist and then saw nothing but stars, as a powerful fist crashed against her jaw and forced her head back against the deck. The tang of iron filled her mouth, souring what few of her senses remained open to the outside world. Mind dulled, head lolled to the side as a trickle of crimson poured over her lips to splash down against the metal of the floor, Helena reached for the sidearm again, sluggishly.

Another crashing fist brought that reaching arm down to the deck, and what little sense remained the Admiral's was confused utterly. Slack lips panting, eyes narrowing and widening without the ability to see much more than the barest outline of a face as it obscured the blinding light of the ceiling above, Helena was dimly aware of the gentlest pressure running through her hair. Nostrils flaring as she took in the unmistakable scent of the body pressing against hers, Cain's eyes rolled closed. Even in the thick mire of the confusion and sorrow that passed for the remaining fragments of her conscious mind, she could feel her skin goosebump at the warm breath blown across it.

Helena shuddered as she felt soft lips graze across her cheek and again, as she felt those same lips settle close by an ear. A gentle finger brushed long dark locks back behind it, even as a whisper joined the careful touch.

"Things aren't black and white any more ..." Gina began softly, easily tearing free a scrap of cloth from her sleeve and dabbing it against the weeping wound on the Admiral's temple. "Us against them; Man versus Machine; Metal or Flesh … It's gotten so complicated now. We forgot how the lines were drawn on our maps so we end up guessing, but we're guessing wrong ..."

Shaking her own head, Gina pressed the rag against the wound more firmly. "You soldiers are all the same; you don't ever want to see the grey. Evaluate the situation, examine the options, select a plan and complete the mission. Complications are just factors to be analysed and overcome. There's only failure or success and nothing in-between, right? Remember Lucy?"

Helena stirred, eyes still closed and voice a cracked whisper. "Lucy …" She repeated, descending into murmurs and nonsense. Gina sighed, reaching across and planting a kiss on the older woman's forehead before returning her lips to Cain's ear.

"You've never told anyone else about that day, except me, have you? Kept it locked away like a secret shame. Anyone else – anyone with a heart – would hear the story and weep. A young girl watches her mother and father killed by terrible metal demons who never bleed, never blink, in a war she has no comprehension or understanding of. She'd sat down with her entire family that morning but she stumbled out of that shattered, burning shell of her home with only one left.

"She trips and stumbles in the broken steel and shattered concrete, but her sister's hurt and can't go on. She pleads desperately, with all her heart, begs her to get up but she can't, or won't. You hear the sound of their single baleful eye, the one that scrolls across their featureless faces … They're coming. You know they spare no-one, show mercy to no-one … They killed your mother, your father and they'll kill you just as surely.

"So you run, leaving Lucy behind. You hide in a shipping container but you're too noisy or they can see through walls – you're not sure which, it doesn't really matter. One of the metal men stalks inside and you pick up a knife, ready to stand your ground, ready to defend that single patch of Tauron and die for it."

Pulling the scrap of cloth away and examining the wound, Gina scrunched the rag up and dropped it to the decking. "But you win! He turns away and goes back to whatever Gods-forsaken place he came from – they all go away and you run back outside to get Lucy …

" … But Lucy went with them, and you're standing all alone as Tauron burns.

"You didn't know it then but the moment your father died and you dragged Lucy down those dusty, broken stairs, you became a soldier. The moment you picked up that knife and held your ground against that Centurion, you became a soldier. Over a decade before you graduated from Tauron's military academy, you were a soldier. Thinking in absolutes, in black-or-white with nothing in-between. All that guilt inside …"

Slipping a hand underneath to cradle the back of Helena's head, Gina watched the older woman's chest rise and fall, rhythmically. "Discipline, duty, honour and glory. Tenants of the military creed that made you the woman that made Admiral over half the Commanders in the Fleet. You weren't born to be a soldier, but you were made one before you had ten candles on your birthday cake and you embraced it all.

"Those tenants punish you just as hard as they please you though, don't they? You failed to protect your sister – you failed your mission. Retroactively applied, maybe, but for over thirty years you've blamed yourself for being too indecisive, too weak … Too Human to get the job done and save the girl."

"Sometimes you forgot you were human," Gina sighed. "Reducing people to numbers, resources to be re-allocated or disposed of as required. I remember the night I came to see you … We were supposed to be having dinner – Remember? I wore a red dress ..."

"You looked beautiful ..." Helena murmured, barely audible. Gina smiled, absurdly considering the situation they both found themselves in. "You answered the door like I'd called in the middle of the night; your hair tussled, eyes narrowed like you'd been up for hours. You had been, of course – you'd been up for almost two days straight. Pouring over engineering manuals, desperately trying to learn in a matter of days what some graduates take years to understand.

"We needed engine parts, sooner rather than later and immediately if we were going to entertain any illusions about being a functional warship. You'd tried every command trick in the book, threw every conceivable resource at the problem but it was inescapable, and no engineer could do anything but offer a best-guess as to how long they could keep the FTL drive operational …

"Then we found those civilian ships – freighters, transporters and a space park if I remember rightly. Then amongst those we found the Scylla, and you found what you needed to continue carrying out your mission. They weren't civilians in your eyes … They weren't even people. They were options; to be examined and utilised to accomplish the objectives at hand. That's what a soldier does, except there was none of the machinery of the State to give you Rules of Engagement, no hand on your shoulder to pull you back.

"Of course, a part of you was justified in that cold, logical way. Pegasus couldn't have hoped to support half of the teeming, starving mouths that suddenly started rapping their empty bowls against the bars of their cages. The ship certainly didn't have the room to take them on-board. On the other hand the Cylons left almost all of the Human Race to die, with no means of escape and you did precisely the same things to the ships you left without food, water or FTL drives ..."

Taking a larger hand in her own, Gina squeezed the fingers. "Around that time, we became something more than lovers, more than two bodies sharing a bed for the occasional night. Around that time I met a beautiful woman named Helena, a few months after I'd been introduced to Admiral Cain of the Battlestar Pegasus. I met the soul behind the soldier, that agonised over Lucy and the Scylla, that grieved for every single pilot lost because they were ordered out on her watch. I held onto that soul, I kept it tethered to the Admiral. I saved you from yourself, Helena …

"If I were really your enemy, I'd have overridden Kendra's blind FTL jump and made sure Pegasus was vaporised alongside the rest of the Colonial Fleet. If I were really your enemy, I'd have bypassed environmental controls and vented the entire ship to space. If I were really your enemy, I'd have led a dozen baseships here and made sure there was no escape.

"If I were really, truly your enemy I'd never have come to your bed. I would've have let you slip further into a world of black-or-white, until Helena was forgotten and all that remained was a soldier by the name of Cain – clinical, emotionless and no better than the Centurions who stole her sister all those years before."

Coughing loudly, the woman underneath turned her head away, the slightest trickle of wetness sliding down a cheek bruising to dark purple. "I can't ..." Helena managed, squeezing her eyes shut ever more tightly. " … I can't."

"You can't what?" Gina whispered softly. "Can't accept a Cylon showing more warmth and humanity and love towards you than any flesh-and-blood person has shown in thirty years? Can't accept you live in a world of grey? Can't admit you don't really want to be the monster you've threatened to become, in order to vanquish an enemy you're no better than?"

Helena shook her head, tears flowing freely as she felt a soft thumb gently rub against her flushed cheeks. "Can't live with the truth …"

The Blonde shrugged. "The truth's subjective, but the reality's simple. You've lived the last few months like you're already dead. You've commanded this Battlestar like it's a ship full of ghosts, their lives already forfeited. You don't entirely believe it – at least the bright spark inside you doesn't – but the soldier, the Admiral and Commander, does; needs to believe it. Suicide missions against vastly superior enemy forces, abandoning innocents to starvation, suffocation or worse and on-the-spot, extra-judicial executions …

"Things change – things have changed. There's fifty thousand people relying not just on Pegasus, and Galactica, but Admiral Helena Cain. You're the supreme military authority of what remains of the Twelve Colonies. President Roslin relies on you to deliver power wherever it's needed, whenever it's needed. The guerilla war is over and now the only truth is in survival."

"There are no other truths, Helena. Everything is subjective, everything is changing and you need to adapt and overcome. You're an Officer of the Colonial Fleet but it's time to retire the soldier; he can't help you any more. You don't need it to survive …"

Helping her to sit up, Gina reached across and snatched the pistol from the decking. Spinning it in her palm she pushed the butt into Cain's limp grasp and stepped back, dropping to her knees. Glancing down at the sidearm and then back up at the blonde, the Admiral staggered to her feet unsteadily. Running her free hand along the top of the pistol, feeling the weapon's weight in her palm, Helena swallowed.

"I can't take away what you've done … I can't even justify it all," Gina whispered, her palms held apart. "You've done some terrible things but these are terrible times, extraordinary times. I can't fix you, Helena … But I can get you through each day, pull you back whenever you come too close to the edge and be the conscience you've long since strangled in yourself."

Dipping her head, Gina closed her eyes and concentrated simply on breathing. She was dimly aware of footsteps as the Admiral stepped closer, but chose to remain ignorant as to whether the older woman was preparing to draw a bead on the blonde's forehead, or press the weapon against her own temple and pull the trigger for a second time. The silence stretched on, moments becoming minutes as she strained to hear anything.

A loud click broke the silence and Gina flinched visibly, recoiling in expectation of a bullet that would put an end to her existence and with it the incredible, joyful euphoria of simply living. The silence returned, before being punctured again – this time by a high-pitch echo not unlike that of a cubit being dropped to the floor. A third, heavy thud followed the ringing, testing her patience to the limit and finally hearing neither a gunshot nor feeling the momentary pain of death, Gina opened her eyes and lifted her chin.

Those bright blue eyes first saw a single round on the decking, rolling in a narrow circle away from the pistol that laid on its side, chamber open and empty. Glancing up she watched the Admiral toss the sidearm's magazine onto the kitchen tabletop with an exhausted sigh, before falling roughly back against the bulkhead and sliding down to the floor.

Clutching a palm to the wound on her head, Cain felt her vision swim as she struggled to shake the heavy weight that seemed to pull her very consciousness down, so that simply thinking was painful. "Why ..."

"Why do this ..." Helena tried again, flinching. "Why not finish what you started on the Twelve Colonies? What makes you different from Shelly Godfrey or any other copy of you?"

Gina's mouth parted, though she spoke no words to answer the question. She cocked her head to the side, chewing on her bottom lip as she considered it all. Eventually a small smile came to her features and she offered the woman opposite the slightest shrug of her shoulders.

"I'm too Human," She replied eventually, simply. "I fell in love …"

Helena laughed, as much as her aching back would allow. A long chuckle that caused the blonde opposite to frown. Running a bloody hand through her tussled locks, Cain shook her head slowly. "This is frakking insane … What the hell do we do now?"

Gina smiled, "We live in interesting times, Admiral. All I suggest we do is live."

The chuckle slowly dying on her lips, Cain shifted her weight. "I don't know … I don't know if I can accept this, live a lie with you like before."

"Then don't accept it," She offered candidly. "Don't accept you fell in love with a Cylon; learn to live with it. Learn to live with a woman you came to love named Gina Inviere and if you accept nothing else, accept that before I showed you the truth, you were living in the most terrible of lies-"

A loud thumping interrupted Gina, the echo of boots thundering against the decking beyond the sealed doorway. "Admiral!" A voice bellowed loudly, urgently. "Admiral Cain!"

Shifting her gaze first to the doorway and then to the older woman, Gina folded her hands into her lap and rested her back against the bulkhead wall. "You can still shoot me – catching an enemy agent in the action of stealing classified military documents and trying to escape. It might even win you a new loyalty amongst your doubters; that you had to put a gun to your own partner's head but never thought twice about carrying out your duty ..."

The angry tones of the pressure doors' electronic lock screeched loudly, as those on the other side manipulated the system to gain entry and give the Admiral almost no time to make her decision.

"Time to decide, Helena," Gina said simply as the doors parted – admitting a half-dozen marines and the threatening muzzles of their assault rifles. The lead soldier, a Sergeant by the angled chevrons atop his biceps, saw the wound on his Commanding Officer's temple and by a quick process of elimination, charged the kneeling blonde with the crime. Raising his rifle, he thumbed the safety off and snaked a finger inside the trigger guard.

"Stand down Sergeant," The Admiral ordered as she climbed to her feet, unsteadily. Craning his head around but making no effort to lower his weapon, the Marine allowed himself the luxury of a frown. "Ma'am? Gunfire was reported …"

Stepping forwards and ahead of his rifle's barrel, Helena narrowed her eyes. "How long have you had hearing problems, Soldier?"

The slightest smile on the Corporal standing to the far left, alongside the numerous weapon muzzles pointed towards the floor betrayed the fact that the Sergeant's squad patently knew something he did not … At least, not yet.

"I don't understand, Ma'am."

Laying a hand on the top of the rifle and pushing it down towards the decking, Cain's voice resonated with barely-restrained sarcasm. "I assume you're hard of hearing, because the only other option would be that you did indeed hear my order, but chose not to act on it. Is that the case?"

"Not at all, Admiral," The Sergeant mumbled, finally beginning to grasp the direction in which the conversation headed. "... Uh, I'll have a check-up as soon as possible?"

Helena simply nodded, casting her gaze towards the entire squad. "Dismissed – get someone to clean this place up."

Filing out with a mixture of grins, frowns and scowls the Marines – led by a Sergeant displaying the latter – made short work of disappearing into the corridors beyond. Cain watched the last soldier leave and drawing in a deep breath, turned on her heels and glanced down at the woman still kneeling before her.

Every facet of her existence seemed now to be a lie, or at the very least, grossly misunderstood. The enemy that stalked them across the stars were not gleaming metal robots, unable to comprehend the irrational, illogical creator that once ruled them and now was all but extinct by their hand. They were living, breathing men and women of flesh and blood; capable of great love and sorrow. Capable of terrible, brutal vengeance but also regret and the Gods-given ability to change.

Staring into the blue eyes below, even armed with the knowledge the woman those eyes belonged to was a Cylon – a machine born of Man's hand, not Man's seed – could not stir the hatred that had fuelled the Admiral for so very long. What rage had roared earlier was not one of hate for Gina, necessarily, but for herself. For allowing herself to be weak, to be fooled, to be the very thing her Duty expected her never to be … Vulnerable.

The battle lines so easily drawn before were gone; erased by the truth that whether willingly or unwillingly, Cylon and Man mingled together. Whether knowingly or unknowingly, Cylon and Man shared intimacy and love and so were no longer simply two opposing, pure forces destined to war forever until one won out over another, and utterly wiped them from existence and the stars. The only factor that changed was awareness – the truth of the reality at hand.

The reality of Helena's situation was agonisingly simple. To keep a hold of her humanity, to avoid sinking into the depths which had seen her shoot friends in cold blood and abandon thousands to starvation and death, to prevent her sinking there for all time, she needed a hand to hold her's. That the hand offered to her was Cylon and not Human was a gut-wrenching irony, but it did not change the reality.

"I don't know if I can accept this ..." She repeated, shaking her head slowly. "But … I might be able to live with it."

Extending a hand out, Helena took a pair of nimble fingers inside her own and helped Gina to her feet. "Keep me Human ..." She whispered, the words barely audible above the normal din of the Battlestar all around them.

Gina leaned in and placed a single chaste kiss on the Admiral's lips. "Only if you do the same …"

...

* * *

...

**The End.**


End file.
